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by TheTyger



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Banter, Cute things, F/M, Fluff, Flying Weaponry, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, bby no, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTyger/pseuds/TheTyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Halt's eyes opened that morning, Will was leaning back against a tree, mindlessly picking out notes on his mandola. He looked up when Horace plopped down next to him with a groan.</p><p>"Good morning," Will murmured.</p><p>--</p><p>A series of oneshots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Halt's eyes opened that morning, Will was leaning back against a tree, mindlessly picking out notes on his mandola. He looked up when Horace plopped down next to him with a groan.

"Good morning," Will murmured.

"Speak for yourself. I'm not cut out for these Ranger-type shenanigans. My back is killing me."

Will eyed the knight's sleeping bag, spread out next to the dwindling fire. "That's because you've got a rock right under it, see? I think you'll survive."

The young Ranger grinned and started strumming cheerfully as Halt shuffled over from his tent, muttering about being 'too old for this adventuring malarkey'.

"Fare thee well, Greybeard Halt, fare thee well I say..."

Halt glared daggers at him.

"If looks could kill..." Horace sniggered.

Will snorted. "I'd have been dead years ag- Hey!"

Halt tossed the mandola in the general direction of its case, ignoring his former apprentice's enraged sputtering. "Put down your lute and make breakfast. I'm starving."

Horace's stomach growled in agreement.

"It's a mandola," Will muttered, poking at the fire.

A comfortable silence settled over them.

"...So," Will started hesitantly, handing his teacher a chunk of bread, "Heading back home, eh?"

Halt nibbled on the bread and huffed. "Nah," he said gruffly. "Clonmel hasn't been my home in a long time. We just left my home."

Will smiled and turned back to the fire.


	2. The Minstrel Boy: Will's Peril

_Halt watched the former apprentice carefully from the corner of his eye, still mostly focused on his own opponent. Parry, step, block, block, jab. Will was excellent with his knives, but the swordsman he was facing was slightly superior in skill, not to mention in the reach of his blade. The young Ranger seemed to be holding his own, however._

_Halt turned his attention fully in front of him, blocking another swing and lunging at his opponent. He knew Horace had his eye on the both of them as well, still slightly dubious about fighting off swordsmen and axemen with only a Ranger's two knives...of course, he was right about the axemen. Jab, block, duck._

_As Halt finished off his enemy and turned to the man trying to sneak up behind him, a piercing scream assaulted his ears, accompanied by a shout of his former student's name. His blood ran cold._

* * *

 

"How is he?" Horace asked anxiously, hand instinctually drifting toward his sword's hilt. Halt looked up, a barely noticeable movement due to his deep cowl.

The grizzled Ranger and young knight, having quickly dealt with the rest of their attackers, were holed up in Healer's Clearing, thankfully only a day's ride from the site of their scuffle. Malcolm nodded calmly and perched himself on a table across from them. "I've seen worse," he assured, "I've definitely seen worse. It may scar, but he'll be alright. I'll need to keep him here for around a week though."

The two travelers sighed with relief, Horace letting his head drop into his hands. "I'll send word to Alyss. She's been in a diplomatic meeting with Lord Orman," the knight offered, leaving to give Halt some privacy.

* * *

 

That evening saw Halt seated in one of Malcolm's comfortable chairs, keeping vigil over his young friend. Will was sleeping peacefully, a slight frown on his face. The older Ranger sighed gruffly and brushed a strand of dark hair from his younger friend's forehead.

Halt trusted Malcolm, he _did_. The man had saved his life, after all. So if the healer said Will would be fine, he told himself, he'd be fine. Will was young and healthy, with a Ranger's physique, and the wound wasn't deep. But he just looked so...vulnerable, and exhausted. He was always cheerful and vital and energetic and Halt _hated_ seeing him this way.

The bearded Ranger pushed his cowl back away from his face and, without even really realizing it, began to sing a Gallican folk song he'd heard as a boy.

_"The minstrel boy to war has gone, In the ranks of death you'll find him;_

_His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him;_

_'Land of Song,' said the warrior bard, 'though all the world betrays thee'..."_ (1)

He trailed off, shuddering slightly at the song's tragic story and running his fingers over Will's slightly feverish brow again. He began to sing again, softer and more gentle than before:

_"Going back to the cabin in the trees, Going back to the creek beneath the hill._

_There's a girl used to live there when I left, But I doubt she'll be waiting for me still..."_ (2)

Hearing a slight cough, he turned and saw a figure leaning gracefully against the doorway, face tired and framed in silver-blonde waves. Alyss.

He nodded curtly to her in greeting, slamming his defenses back into place and his guard back up, but she offered him a small grateful smile and held up a mug of soup...

And, slowly, he let them back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) - "The Minstrel Boy," Irish folk song. 
> 
> (2) - "Cabin in the Trees" from the Ranger's Apprentice series~ belongs to John Flanagan.


	3. Target Practice

Will stood, light and steady on his feet, sharp brown eyes sighting down the shaft of his slate grey arrow and to the target across from him. His finger brushed the corner of his mouth as he inhaled, preparing to release the shot.

"I'm _bored_."

Will started and turned to glare irritably at the knight, who was sprawled on the ground against a tree, sword stuck haphazardly into the ground. The arrow landed solidly in the center of the target anyway.

"Must you?" Will growled. "You didn't have to come out here, you know."

Horace groaned. "Sorry- I never understood how you Rangers just sit like statues for hours on end. I'm a knight, I need to _move_. I'm a man of action."

"'Man of action,'" Will scoffed, gesturing wildly with his bow. "You've been sitting on the ground for the last hour, complaining like a child."

"Fine, I apologize, O Mature Ranger. Go back to your target practice."

"I could use you for target practice," the Ranger muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. C'mere."

Horace tilted his head inquisitively. "Wh-"

"Come here, get up," Will repeated, yanking his taller friend to his feet. "Here." He put the bow in the knight's left hand and handed him an arrow. "You're so bored, you can learn to shoot a bow. Feet shoulder width apart, one in front of the other...good. Now, when you draw, bring your finger- _not your thumb_ -to the corner of your mouth... No no, like this."

Will flitted around, appropriating his 'Chocho' nickname (it's a term of great respect), adjusting the knight's hands and position and ending up behind him with his arms almost around him. Horace smirked and lunged at him with his lips puckered playfully, earning him a whack to the back of the head.

"If you have a better way to correct your atrocious technique, I'd love to hear it," Will snapped. "Now, relax, exhale and release the arrow."

It hit a few inches from the bullseye. "Not bad," Will commented. Horace puffed up a bit in pride. "...for a _knight_."

The taller man glared, silently accepting the challenge. His second shot hit very close, drawing a nod from the Ranger. "That's better. We'll make a Ranger of you yet!"

"Oh no," Horace stammered. "Nonononono. I'm not cut out for your people's...hokum. Creeping around like ghosts and throwing knives around."

"'They say 'go whack them' and I go whack them,' (1) Will grinned, mimicking the knight's deeper voice. "So I've heard."

Horace scowled. "I don't talk like that."

"You do, though. And you snore."

"I do _not. Snore_ ," he said, with great dignity.

"Then we'll expect to see the swarm of locusts you've swallowed flying out your ears," Will replied smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Line is paraphrased from one of the books.


	4. Amazing News

The two Rangers sat in companiable silence, Gilan meticulously sharpening one of his knives and rambling cheerfully as Will sat curled in a chair, cradling his mandola in his lap. The young Ranger had finally made it to Whitby Fief to visit the swordsman.

"She cooked me dinner last night, so sweet of her, and her roast venison is to die for, Will..."

Will hummed inattentively, having a multitude of experience with Jenny's venison. His fingers picked gracefully over the strings of his instrument, playing an F and then a C. Mmm, venison...

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Gilan said, flicking the blade in his direction. It embedded itself in the wall inches from his head. Will turned to examine the knife, mildly surprised, before plucking it from the wall calmly and tossing it hilt first back to the older Ranger. Gilan caught it easily, turning it over in his hands.

"Careful with that, Gil; you'll take someone's head off," Will quipped. Gilan snorted. "You know full well that if I wanted to hit you, I would have hit you," he reminded.

It was Will's turn to snort. "I wouldn't say that," the younger Ranger chortled, "Remember the incident in Norgate last year?"

The swordsman's eyes widened. "That- but- I was drunk then. I'm not drunk now. It doesn't count." His friend just hummed, unconvinced, before deciding to take a bit of mercy on the older Ranger. Just a bit, mind. "Ah, of course. More coffee?"

"Please..." Gil smiled sheepishly and held out his mug. Will considered sticking out his tongue, decided that wouldn't be dignified, and instead took the mug and headed toward Gilan's kitchenette.

"Will... There's something I need to tell you."

Will glanced over, slightly concerned. "Yes?"

"Well... Jenny and I..." Gilan began, a grin spreading slowly across his face, "We're getting married." Will nearly dropped the mug. "Gilan, my god, congratulations! That's amazing news!" he laughed, bounding forward to embrace his friend.

"Yeah..." Gilan agreed, beaming, "Yeah, it is."


End file.
